


Hurting

by Rixigo



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Darkiplier - Freeform, Darkiplier is evil, Darkiplier is in Mark's head, Depression, Dog - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Graphic, Heartwarming, Hurt/Comfort, Jack is visiting, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Nightmares, Recovery, Self-Harm, Septiplier - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, borderline love, but more like really intense friend love, chica is sweet, hopelessness, paramedics, platonic, protective sean, scary Dark, sean to the rescue, so much crying, the sweetest most caring friends, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-21 13:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17643608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rixigo/pseuds/Rixigo
Summary: In the midst of a depressive episode, Mark needs more help than ever before it's too late.





	1. I Don't Know How To Talk About This Sort Of Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains extremely graphic depictions of self harm and other unsettling acts and thoughts. I am not glorifying it at all. If you are sensitive to that type of thing, I suggest you don't read on.
> 
> This first chapter jumps right into it, and it gets very intense very quickly.

 Mark stood in his bathroom, watching himself in the mirror. His hands were cold and stiff as they gripped the sides of the sink.

 _Cry,_ he told himself. _Just. Fucking. Cry. Do something. Feel something._

It was no use. The tears wouldn’t come, and in the back of his mind he wondered if he was just faking it. If he really felt so bad, shouldn’t he be able to cry? He couldn’t even pinpoint a single sad thought. Had he been lying to himself about how bad he felt lately? His frustration grew until he let out a sharp huff and grabbed his hair. He scoffed at how ridiculous he was acting, like a child throwing a tantrum.

He came into this bathroom with intentions. He was tired of feeling bad, and he figured it was time to hurt himself. That was what sad people did, right? But now he just felt stupid. He gave up and opened the bathroom door. Chica greeted him with a calm wag of her tail.

“You weren’t even worried. You know I’m just a dummy, huh,” Mark said, his voice echoing through the hall, serving as a reminder of how alone he was.

Chica followed him to the living room and placed her head on his knee when he sat on the couch.

Mark’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

2 messages from Sean. He unlocked his phone and opened the texts.

         [2:32pm] S: Just landed at LAX! I’ll be on my way soon.

         [3:14pm] S: Picked up my rental car, phone says there’s a bit of traffic.

Mark typed a quick reply joking about LA traffic and expressing his excitement. He was truly excited. He hadn’t seen Sean in nearly a year. This visit had been sort of a surprise. Mark didn’t know until about a week ago that Sean was coming. His negative thoughts melted away, and he did a quick, last minute sweep to make sure his home was tidy.

After a wait that felt too long, there was a knock at the door. Mark opened it and embraced Sean.

“Hey! Oh man I missed you. How was the flight?”

“It was good, but I’m glad it’s over!” Sean replied in his ever-cheerful voice. “Chica!” He knelt to give her lots of enthusiastic scratches.

Mark smiled at them, and he was suddenly self-aware. He wondered if Sean could somehow read his thoughts. Only an hour ago, his mind was in a much darker place.

Sean seemed as happy as ever, though, and despite Mark’s complete lack of energy, he seemed to feel much better in Sean’s presence. They spent about three hours just catching up. They texted quite often, but talking in person was so different.

Mark offered to order delivery for dinner. He wasn’t in the mood to cook, and he knew Sean would understand. Sean, being his usual generous self, argued with Mark until they settled on splitting the bill.

Mark had never been able to make someone smile so easily. In these few hours he realized just how much he really missed his friend. The two of them had completely compatible senses of humor, and even after becoming so close with Ethan and Tyler, he craved Sean’s presence the most. They laughed the night away, and Chica seemed to adore Sean just as much as Mark did.

“I should head over to the hotel, I’m really feeling the jetlag now,” Sean said finally as it approached 10pm.

Mark walked him to his car and gave him another hug. Sean gave the best hugs, the kind where he rubbed your back a little with his hand. He had business to attend to tomorrow, which means that they wouldn’t be seeing each other again until Friday. Hopefully the wait wouldn’t seem too dreadfully long.

Mark watched as the red tail lights disappeared around the corner. He dropped his hands to is sides and turned to meander back into the house. It was quieter than ever. It felt like it dropped five degrees after Sean left. Mark shivered as he made his way down the hall. He passed the bathroom door. It was still cracked open, just how he’d left it earlier. The air was so still that it felt stale. The old-fashioned straight razor in the medicine cabinet called to him.

 _Stupid,_ he thought to himself, _such a childish thought. Cutting is a high school thing. You’re 29._ _Get over yourself._

He reached for the handle and pulled the door shut, then continued to his room. Chica followed silently.

 

* * *

 

Mark lay awake, even three hours later. His bed felt harder than usual, and he couldn’t get comfortable. His mind was blank, almost overwhelmingly blank. A sense of numbness had taken over his mind and body alike. What he would give to feel anything. He tried being excited about seeing Sean again soon. He tried feeling sad about his depressed mood lately. He even tried feeling angry about stupid hate comments left on his videos. But all he could feel was a strong sense of _nothing._ Cold, empty, nothing. There couldn’t possibly be any worse feeling than this. It was inescapable, and he couldn’t foresee an ending. He felt trapped, like he was floating in a void.

Just then, the straight razor called to him again. He was standing before the bathroom sink, and he realized he couldn’t recall getting out of bed. How did he get here?

He opened the cabinet and pulled out the razor that seemed to fit in his hand so perfectly. There was nothing left in his brain telling him no. He placed the sharp edge against the skin on his forearm and pressed down. After realizing that it had barely broken skin, he felt disappointed. He pressed down again, this time harder, and he drug it across in one quick, fluid movement. At first there was nothing, but then the pain came all at once. It stung, and the blood began to bubble along a thin line. Again, he felt disappointment. He wanted to see more blood. _How fucked up is that?_ The thought interrupted him for a moment, but he quickly fell back into a trance, and he made a second cut beside the first. The blood came more quickly this time, but it still wasn’t enough. He dug into his skin again and again. _One, two three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven._ He stopped and counted. How did that happen so quickly? He pressed the blade carefully back into one of the cuts he’d already made and followed it again. The blood turned from droplets to a small stream that ran down and dripped from the underneath side of his arm. Again and again he cut. With each new one, a rapid burst of searing pain. It didn’t go numb like everyone said it would. It didn’t hurt less over time, it hurt _more,_ and something about that was deeply satisfying. It was pulling him away from that terrifying deep nothingness and into a sweet embrace of feeling. Even if it was pain, it was better than nothing.

Mark stood there, holding the razor in one hand, and watching the light reflect off the blood on his other. He must have been frozen there for at least ten minutes, but suddenly reality hit. He seemed to come back to himself, and he was overtaken by shame and fear and, oh god, the pain. His arm was aching and his fingers were starting to tingle. The blood had still not dried or clotted, and the steady stream continued. He tried running it under the faucet, but it stung so bad that he cried out. He ran to the kitchen, cupping his other hand underneath to try and prevent dripping on the floor.

He was trying to suppress the growing panic as he searched for something to wrap his arm in. His arm was burning now, and he just wanted it to stop. After not being able to find anything useful, he pressed his forearm into the front of his shirt. It felt like it was on fire, but he was at a loss for what to do. He could feel the blood soaking through to his stomach as tears came to his eyes. How could he have been so stupid?

 _Stupid,_ the word echoed in his head.

What could he possibly do now? His head felt like it might explode. He wanted it all to stop. He wasn’t ready to wake up in the morning, knowing what he’d just done. He wasn’t ready to wake up knowing that it was stupid and useless because he’d wake up feeling just the same as always: numb and tired and alone. He couldn’t handle it.

He grabbed a bottle of tequila from the counter and went back to the bathroom. He let himself slouch down to the floor, and he then unscrewed the cap, taking a large swig.

Before long, he downed half the bottle. His head was swimming, and he looked down for the first time. His white shirt was stained red. He pulled his arm away to look at the damage, but he could no longer feel it hurting.

He took another drink and reached into his pocket for his phone.

It was hard to keep his eyes focused on the screen, but he maneuvered to his messages, and opened the most recent chat. He typed slowly, allowing autocorrect to help him with his many drunken mistakes.

         M: Fucking pitiful. I’m sorry this had to happen the one time you were out to visit.

He pressed send, and the small logic part of his brain immediately regretted it.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but his phone buzzed in his hand.

         S: What do you mean? It’s late, is everything ok?

He hadn’t expected a reply, he figured Sean would be long asleep by this time. He wasn’t sure how to reply, and he felt foolish now that he had to.

         M: Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying. I didn’t wake you??

         S: No, I couldn’t sleep. But are you ok?

Mark hesitated. It was so hard to think right now, and he didn’t know how to reply without scaring Sean, but he also didn’t want to lie… a small part of him knew he wanted help.

         M: I’m just having a bad night, I’ll be ok in the morning.

         S: It’s ok, you can talk to me.

         M: I know, but I should wat

         M: wait

         S: Ok, well I’m here if you need anything, you know that.

Mark sighed.

         M: thanks

He dropped his phone into his lap and felt the tears coming again. He ruined his one chance to say something. He didn’t know how to talk about this.

He drank more, realizing he was almost through the whole bottle now. Chica was scratching at the door, but he couldn’t find the door handle when he reached for it, and soon he forgot what he was doing.

Just as his vision started to go black, his phone buzzed again.

         S: Something doesn’t feel right. You sure you’re ok?

         M: Im suree, I just need sleep. I jus need to sleep

         S: Where are you right now?

         M: bathr

         S: Mark?

Mark was fighting to keep his eyes open, but it was getting harder to see, and his head kept lolling backwards and smacking the wall.

         S: Mark if you don’t answer, I’m coming over.

And then it went dark.


	2. I Don't Want To Die

Mark heard a muffled voice growing slowly louder. He felt pressure on his shoulder and then a warm hand against his cheek. The light in the room was blinding as he first opened his eyes, but soon they adjusted, and he saw Sean kneeling beside him, looking completely panicked.

“Mark! God damnit, answer me!” He shouted in a shaky voice.

“m’here,” Mark’s voice was hoarse, and his head was still spinning. He felt like he might vomit.

“Jesus Christ! Oh god, you’re ok. You’re ok.” Sean pressed his hands into Marks shoulders again and squeezed, as if to reassure him.

Mark was directing almost all of his attention to not throwing up, but shame and guilt began to grow inside of him. He felt himself sink back into the wall again as his vision blurred.

“Mark, I need you to stay with me, stay awake.” Sean’s voice was still shaky and desperate, but he was so composed. “I’ve called an ambulance-“

“No!” Mark shouted as panic filled him, “Please don’t make me go there, don’t make me go there I want to stay here!”

He felt a tear run down his cheek. The hospital terrified him. He had already been there too many times, and he never wanted to go back if he could help it. He knew how they treated people like him. He also knew that there was a chance someone would recognize him.

“Mark, you’re hurt. They can have a look at you, they can help!”

Mark lunged forward and wrapped his good arm around his friend, clutching at his shirt, “Sean please….”

Sean looked defeated. He opened his mouth to protest, but he seemed a little lost for words at first.

“I… At least let the paramedics talk to you. You don’t have to go in the ambulance if you choose, but let them make sure you’re ok. For my sake,” he said finally.

The word’s stung Mark’s heart, and he nodded.

“Thank you,” Sean said with a sigh of relief. He placed a gentle hand on Mark’s knee. “Can you tell me what happened? I won’t judge, I just want to be here for you.”

“I just… I guess… ‘m not feeling well.” Mark felt his face go red. How was he supposed to talk about something like this?? Frustration rose in him again. He wanted so badly to talk to Sean, to just be honest, but he couldn’t. The words didn’t want to form, and everything that he wanted to say felt stupid.

Sean leaned in closer to him, taking a moment before speaking in a soft tone.

“What’s this?” he brushed Mark’s left hand with his fingertips.

Mark looked down and saw his arm again for the first time. Thankfully the bleeding had stopped, but there really was blood everywhere. It was on his shirt and pants, and there was a fair bit of it smudged around the floor as well. The sight was horrific, he didn’t know how Sean was able to stay so calm.

“I- I did that,” he replied. The words sounded so dumb when they rang through the air.

“Why?” Sean asked.

“I couldn’t feel anything. I needed to feel _something._ ”

Sean nodded with a pained look on his face. He picked up the empty bottle of tequila.

“You didn’t take anything else, did you?” he asked.

Mark shook his head, “no.”

“That’s good,” Sean said halfheartedly.

“Mark, you know-” he was cut off by a sharp know at the door.

“LAFD!” they heard a muffled shout.

“I’ll get that, you stay here,” Sean said, rushing away.

Mark heard the door open, and he wondered briefly how Sean had gotten into his house in the first place. He didn’t have time to ponder it for long though, because Sean had soon come back into the bathroom, followed by two men in brown fire pants and blue shirts.

“Hello sir, my name is Bradley, and I’m here to check on you if that’s alright.”

Mark nodded. He hated being outnumbered like this. He felt like a small child.

Bradley knelt down and set a large med kit beside him.

“What’s your name, son?” he asked.

“Mark.”

“Mark, can you tell me a bit about what’s going on?”

“I just had too much to drink, I’m ok though,” Mark replied. He noticed that Sean looked impatient and antsy.

“I notice your arm seems hurt, can I have a closer look at it?”

Mark nodded, but he couldn’t make eye contact. This was humiliating.

Bradley carefully observed Mark’s arm.

“Ok, it doesn’t look great, but it’s nothing of immediate concern. Can you tell me how this happened? Did you do this to yourself?”

Mark couldn’t find it in him to reply. He just sat there, trying not to cry. That would be even more embarrassing.

Bradley spoke up again, “It’s ok, there’s absolutely no judgement from me. I’m just here to help.”

“Yes,” Mark croaked.

“Yes, you did it to yourself?” Bradley asked.

Mark nodded. He could see Sean fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“What did you use?”

Mark again felt it difficult to answer. After a moment, he saw movement and looked up. Sean reached into his back pocket and produced the straight razor which was now folded shut and covered in dried blood.

Bradley nodded to him and looked back at Mark, “Was it that?”

Mark nodded, keeping his eyed glued to his lap.

Bradley shifted his weight.

“Thank you for your honesty, Mark. Is it ok if my buddy here helps to check your vitals and clean up your arm a bit? Just some basic disinfectant to make sure that it doesn’t get infected.”

Mark nodded, and the second paramedic bent down and began wiping his cuts with something that stung.

Bradley’s voice distracted him from the pain, “I’m just going to ask you a few more questions, and I’d really appreciate if you just be as truthful as you can, ok? This is a safe space, and none of us are here to pass judgement.”

Mark nodded.

Bradley continued, “do you feel like you hurt yourself tonight with the intention to end your life?”

Mark felt nauseous again, he didn’t want to answer this. He didn’t want to scare Sean. He didn’t even know how to answer it. Were his intentions really that malicious? He wasn’t sure.

He shook his head, “no.”

“Have you had thoughts recently of harming anyone else?”

Mark said no without hesitation. Of course he would never hurt anyone else.

“Have you had thoughts recently of ending your life?”

Mark didn’t answer right away. He felt like if he lied, he might be struck by lightning.

“Sort of,” he said.

“Have you made any plans on how you would do it?” Bradley asked in a neutral voice.

“No,” Mark answered as the second paramedic began wrapping his arm in gauze.

“So would you say these thoughts are more fleeting, or more focused?”

“I don’t want to die, I just want the numbness to stop,” Mark blurted out.

Sean stood so still he might as well have been a statue.

Bradley nodded, “Ok, that makes sense, Mark. If it’s ok, we’d like to take you to see a doctor. They will be able to help more. Maybe that way they can help you find a healthier way to fight the numbness.”

“No,” Mark said sternly, “I’m ok, thanks.”

Bradley looked like he wanted to sigh, but he kept a neutral expression.

“Mark, as a human being, I wouldn’t feel great walking away and leaving you here like this. I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I really recommend you at least come with us to see a doctor. Who knows, they might say you’re ok and let you come back home very soon!” Bradley said with an optimistic smile.

“No, I won’t be going with you,” Mark repeated, “but thank you, both of you.”

Bradley stood slowly, and nodded, now looking quite sad.

“Alright Mark, I understand. Will you at least be sure to call us again if you change your mind or need anything else?”

“Yeah, I will if I need,” Mark said, making eye contact with Bradley for the first time, and offering a polite smile. His head was beginning to feel less cloudy now.

Bradley turned to leave, but before he did, he looked back one last time.

“You know, I shouldn’t say this, but my son, he really loves you. Both of you. Watches your videos all the time. He always tries to get me to watch them with him. You make him light up in a way that not much else can. If he knew I was here, he’d want me to say thank you.”

Mark and Sean both smiled and nodded. Sean looked like he might cry, and Mark could already feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He was always so scared of being recognized in a time like this, but he didn’t feel shame. He only felt a warmth in his heart.

Bradley tapped twice on the doorframe and then disappeared with his partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those still reading. Your support is very appreciated. I know this story is a little rough, but there is plenty of fluff in the future. This is a recovery fic just as much as an angst fic. 
> 
> I also want to say for anyone struggling, don't be like Mark. It's ok to ask for help. Let people help. There's no need to be ashamed of mental health issues. <3
> 
> It would be wonderful if you left a comment! I love seeing feedback and hearing from you! It also really helps me stay motivated to get more chapters out soon!


	3. There's Nothing Left

Sean leaned forward and brought himself to the floor beside Mark.

“Let me help you,” he said in a voice softer than silk. With tender hands, he took the bottom of Mark’s shirt and began to pull it up.

“Sean…” Mark said hoarsely.

Sean only shook his head a little, “Just shush. Please?”

Mark nodded and moved away from the wall so that Sean could get the bloodied shirt over his head, being extra careful not to catch it on his bandaged arm.

Sean lifted Mark to his feet and helped him down the hall to his bedroom.

“Why don’t you change into fresh clothes, and I’ll throw these in the wash for you,” Sean said.

“You don’t have to stay.” Mark’s guilt was overwhelming. He’d never felt like this much of a burden before.

“I’m staying,” Sean said with a finality in his voice that made it impossible to object.

Mark nodded silently and went to his closet to retrieve his favorite pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. He still felt sick from the amount of alcohol he’d drank, but at least he didn’t feel so drunk anymore. Chica sat on her bed, wagging her tail uncertainly as Mark passed by. When he got back to the bathroom, Sean was wiping up the rest of the blood.  

“I found this under the sink,” he said, holding up a spray bottle, “hope you don’t mind.”

Mark wanted to say _you don’t have to do that,_ but it was no use. He was actually quite grateful that he didn’t have to spend more time looking at his own blood.

After everything was cleaned, Sean took the rest of the clothes from Mark and went to put them in the washing machine. He’d stayed at Mark’s in the past, so he knew where almost everything was.

Mark went straight to the couch, pressing on his temples to try and combat the headache that was now coming on. The throbbing made it difficult to think, and the sleep deprivation was really starting to catch up to him.

“You doing ok?” Sean’s voice came softly.

He brought a fluffy blanket and draped it over Mark’s lap.

“I don’t know,” Mark replied.

“You should try to sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” Mark lied. He was exhausted, but he was afraid to sleep. Sleeping meant that he would have to face the terrible feeling of waking up to another day tomorrow.

Sean nodded as he sat in the big  armchair to Mark’s right, “It’s ok. I’ll put on the TV, but at least try to rest. I’ll be right here.”

Not fifteen minutes later, Mark was fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

“Good try,” Mark’s own voice echoed through the room, but it was a distorted and malicious growl.

Dark appeared in front of him with ashen skin, surrounded by a blue and red glow. Mark took a step backwards as a sense of dread crept up his spine.

Dark motioned to Mark’s arm.

“Really,” He continued in a tone that sounded sarcastic and mocking. “Of course, you weren’t trying all that hard, were you?”

Mark felt his arm burning, and when he looked down, he could see himself standing in a pool of blood.

Dark didn’t even give him a chance to reply, “Figures, you’ve always been weak. You pretend like your whole life has been some grand gesture, like you mean something. But we know it isn’t true, don’t we?”

“Shut up,” Mark said feebly.

“You’ve had so many things you wanted to do, but you’re such a coward. You are so afraid of failure that you’d rather stick to what’s comfortable, am I right?”

“Shut up,” Mark repeated, but Dark disregarded him and went on anyway.

“You stick to making meaningless videos for your silly channel because it’s all you know how to do. But at the end of the day, you turn off that computer, and you crawl into bed, and you know… you know that aaaaall that effort is only a desperate attempt to keep something going that died long ago. You know that no one cares. You know that you haven’t changed the world, and that in fifty years, no one will remember you.”

Mark tried to speak, but his voice wouldn’t come. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to wake up. But when he opened his eyes again, Dark’s face was only inches from his own.

“Not to mention all those people that you let die,” Dark purred into his ear.

“Stop,” Mark exhaled, feeling a lump grow in his throat.

“Oh yes, you get thousands and thousands of messages. So many people came to you asking for advice. _Mark, I’m feeling down lately, and I don’t know what to do!_ ”, Dark mocked in a whiny voice, “ _Mark, I just want to die. No one cares about me. What should I do?”_

Tears swam in his eyes.

“But you didn’t even _try_ to reply to them, did you? You figured it was an act of attention-seeking, didn’t you?”

“No…” Mark croaked, “No I didn’t think that, I wanted to help… I wanted to–”

“But you let them DIE!” Dark’s voice erupted so loudly that Mark felt his head might explode. He fell backwards, his hands meeting the pool of warm blood with an awful squelch. Dark loomed over him.

“You’ve killed people, Mark. You’ve done things that you’ll never be able to take back or make right, and you know that, don’t you?”

Mark’s body shook with violent sobs.

“I could go on, but it seems you understand,” Dark crouched in front of him, a wicked sneer forming on his lips. “So… you can either wake up and go on with your day, knowing all the terrible things you’ve done. You can go on knowing that you’ll never amount to anything, that you’re a failure and a waste of potential… or… for once in your life, you can finish what you fucking started.”

Dark held out his hand, and in it was a glistening silver straight razor.

Mark cried so hard that he felt he might vomit. His brain was a scrambled mess. After a long minute, he took the razor with shaking hands. Feeling Dark’s presence rolling over him like a thick poisonous fog, he dug into his arm. It was so much easier than he remembered. There was no pain, and the razor cut through his skin like butter. Blood poured out in thick streams, adding to the pool below. He sliced at his arms and legs and stomach until there was no surface left untouched. When he finished, he laid back, feeling the warm blood soak into his hair and clothes. He laid there, silently awaiting death. As his vision faded, he saw the face of his mother. She was crying, begging him not to go.

_What have I done?_

 

* * *

 

Mark slowly opened his eyes. His knees were tucked into his chest, so that he was curled into a big lump on the end of the couch. Light from the TV washed over the room, illuminating everything in a strange blue hue. He looked over to see Sean, fast asleep in the armchair perpendicular to him.

Mark’s heart sank into his stomach as the dream came back to the forefront of his mind. He buried his face in the blanket and cried silently. The feeling he was left with was so inexplicably horrible that he really didn’t know what to do with it. Should he wake Sean? No… his friend had done far too much for him already. He wished he’d actually died. Anything was better than waking up to this feeling. Maybe he should just end it now?

He wanted so badly to act on his thoughts, but his body refused to move. Whether from sleep deprivation or fear, he couldn’t find it in him to get up. So instead he curled himself up tighter and cried harder until his face was puffy and numb.

After what felt like hours, sleep weighed heavily his eyelids once more. He fought to stay awake, but he couldn’t resist it much longer.

One last thought crossed his mind before he drifted.

_What’s left for me here?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long to get out. I had midterms and I kept rewriting and rewriting it. I'm excited to write more though!
> 
> Please leave comment! I'd love to hear from you! <3


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